The sun hadn't even begun to creep out of it's sleeping, to greet the horizon when Zatar rolled out of his hammock onto the hard wooden floor of his Casinover. He had long ago come to the conclusion that the fastest and easiest way to wake himself in the early morning was to just fall. It threw his entire body into an instant state of alertness and brought him into consciousness. The downside was the sudden stop. But everything comes with it's own set of ups and downs, and if this was what it took to wake up early enough for the day to run smoothly then so be it. What had to be done, had to be done and complaining about does nothing but make the day sour.

Zatar got up from the hard wooden floor of the cabin and walked towards the stairs leading to the main deck. Even in the near perfect darkness his practiced stumbling morning walk was pulled off without a hitch, this boat was like of part of him, a peice of his soul so to speak and he knew it like it was such. As he walked onto the open deck and smelt the clean fresh scent of the morning breeze Zatar stretched and waited as the salty air cleared his mind. But he could not wait for long, there were chores to attend to. Starting with his fishing net.

As he walked towards the stern of the boat, Zatar quickly shuffled through a few guesses on how he might have fared with the fish. He had anchored his vessel in a strong current, meaning that his net would be aft of the boat and in a perfect position to catch any small or medium sized fish that were travelling in the same current. With any blessing from the Lord of the Sea he should do quite well, but as an old proverb stated. "If there aren't any fish in your net... you might want to check for holes."

It took Zatar a great deal of time and effort to draw in the large net, for it was heavy with the writhing bodies of trapped fish. There were close to 15 fish in his net, it had been a good night for this fisherman. Laviku had smiled upon his fortunes, and must be thanked as soon as Zatar had time to do so. But for now these fish had to be transported to the buckets which before this morning had been sadly empty. This load would easily fill one of his barrels, and possibly flow into a second. This would salt well, and could last for quite some time if prepared correctly. Which was the next order of business Zatar would need to attend to.

The sun had just now begun to peek it's sleepy face above the horizon to greet the sleeping world of the day. As it did so Zatar sat down with a barrel of fish, a bog of salt, a knife, and an empty barrel. Prepared to spend the next few hours gutting, cleaning, and salting the nights catch. He would chop off it's head, then cut down the belly revealing the internal organs which he would quickly remove and throw into the ocean to feed the fish around him. Giving is always a part of receiving and in order to best use the ocean he had to care for and protect it. After Zatar had completed gutting the fish, he cut the meat into thin strips and rubbed them down with salt pinning the strips to a wooden board which he proppoed up against the mast.

By the time his work was finished it was high noon, and time for a rest and refreshment. So Zatar walked down into the cabin and broke open a coconut he had picked up on an island a few days before. He drank it's milk lustily and then snacked on the flesh as he lay down on his hammock and listened to the sound of the water breaking on the sides of his ship.

Zatar woke with a start as the half eaten coconut fell from his sleeping hands and clattered against the wooden deck of the cabin. He had slept for around two hours and was feeling quite well rested and ready for something to do, but having nothing in particular he needed to do. It was a good feeling.

So in a spur of the moment decision Zatar fetched a bundle that was stored in a sack in the corner of the ship. In the cloth bundle were 10 throwing knives Zatar had liberated from a passing sailor years ago. He kept them in the cloth to keep the iron from rusting and to keep the edges sharp. The shape of these knives was slightly different from most daggers, they were purpose built for throwing with the majority of the weight towards the tip. The points of the knives were wedge shaped and designed for maximum piercing power, they were well crafted tools for one job. To kill.

Zatar took this bundle placed it on top of a barrel, he then proceeded to take a knife and mark an "x" in a wall of the cabin. The light streaming through it's open door provided a good deal of illumination on his project. Once the x was carved to his satisfaction Zatar began to throw his knives at the wall.

His methods were methodical and precise, if you wanted to learn something well you had to start slow and steady, and continue with patience. Or at least that's what his uncle had told him when he was but a child. Zatar had always tried to follow this advice, so he began by carefully feeling the weight of the knife. He lightly grabbed towards the tip, and then practiced the ark of the swing several times before releasing the blade. The result was less than satisfactory.

The endless clanging of knives not sinking into wood was enough to drive anyone crazy. When Zatar did manage to carefully release the knife and his execution was perfect enough to let the blade sink into the wood, and give him a satisfying thump, it was beautiful. But that was a rare happening, most often his hand would nick one way or the other, he would throw too hard or too soft, or maybe his wrist didn't rotate quite enough. Whatever the case may be, he obviously need more practice, a lot more practice. So he continued practicing, attempting to perfect the angle of his throw, learning more about the trajectory of a blade, and how much strength was needed for a certain distance.

By the time he had finished throwing his arms ached from hours of repetitive motion, and his mind was numb from constant focus. It was time to relax and make merry, he had spent his afternoon well and planned on spending his evening in pleasure. So he wrapped his knives up once again and placed them back in the sack they had come out of. But as he did so he grabbed a one gallon keg of ale and carried it up to the deck of his ship. He would not be sailing this evening, for there was an old sailing proverb. "A drunken sailor... is drunk". And drunk people don't tend to sail very well, or at least that's what his uncle had told him.

By the time the keg of ale had been drained Zatar was in a state of unspeakable joy. He stumbled about his ship, talking to a crew of nonexistent sailors and flirting with several imagined barmaids. Until finally he fell into the cabin, and stumbled drunkenly into his hammock to sleep off the effects of drinking too much ale. All in all, it was quite the average day at sea.